


Catch You On My Way Out

by Liebisadick



Series: bring the rain [2]
Category: Markiplier (Youtuber), jacksepticeye (YouTuber)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internal homophobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6865708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liebisadick/pseuds/Liebisadick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack loved the rain. He loved how much it stung- he never expected it to bring him Mark who had a laugh like thunder and a smile he didn't want to see go.<br/>--<br/>Because Bring The Rain was so popular from Mark's perspective, let's see Jack's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch You On My Way Out

**Author's Note:**

> The past fics chapter titles were made with song titles by Finish Ticket. This time they're the lyrics.  
> I wanted to bring a new perspective, new talent, maybe draw the eye of old friends though. This is for them, they know who they are, and everyone who wanted it or not, here's their story. Hope you enjoy.

The words that rolled from his lips had a sour taste, accompanied by the taste of cheap tobacco pressed against his teeth made the taste of bile rise in the back of his throat. 

The smoke coming from his cigarette burned at his eyes, tear ducts stinging and long lashes blinking quickly. Slow steps. He took slow steps, matching the pace of the world around him as lethargia thick as mud weighed down the world around him and making his bones feel soaked through. 

Jack hated the city smell, the way the thick waves of stink seemed to stick to your clothing and soak through your pores. Hated the crowds of people and their crowds of cars, everyone so bland, everything so dead and grey and dull. 

He missed the clean smell of the rolling field that surrounded his house, the clean scent that  
woke him at dawn after an early morning rain. 

He missed the rain. 

The words were sour, and he remembered. Remembered how young he sounded when he last said that, the naivety still in his voice, and his eyes shining so brightly as he talked about his home, smile still across his face as he turned from looking out the car window to looking over at-

No, that was a fucking life time ago. He didn’t miss it he told himself- he didn’t miss it. The words still burned in his mouth and he spat out the cigarette and looked up. “Fuck it.”  
\----

He told himself that everyday, he didn’t miss the rain. And for a while he started to believe it, started to forget about the cooling water across his skin, and forgot what it was like to feel clean underneath the dirt and filth the city left caked to his skin. And he told himself he was okay. 

He said this to himself as he was tucked away in the corner of the alleyway, hood over his head as he clung to himself, knees pressed against his chest and temple resting against the side of the old building. He wondered how it supported him when it could barely support itself, his bag and spare clothes set in a messy pile beside him. He didn’t feel like going back, nothing against Molly and Wade, but he was fucking sick of their place. The crowded room, bunks lining the walls as men and women piled in, the room smelling of stench and sadness. No, he’d rather stay here, somewhere free, somewhere away from them, away from the memories of him. 

It was colder though, something about the air was so light yet so dense, a contradicting compliment of cool and humid, meshing together and making his skin prickle and his body shiver as he curled further into himself, pretending like he wasn’t cold. That he was back in Ireland, back in his cabin, the warmth that wrapped itself around his bones there, the smell of bread wafting through the house, and the euphoria at the sound of rain.  
And the sound of rain. 

His eyes cast upwards as he spotted the clouds through the sky, rolling and twisting as they fought and collided, breaking open to crack and weep cool wet tears to the ground. He watched as the sound of rain turned to rain, and for a second Jack held his breath. 

“You don’t miss the rain,” he whispered, reciting it like a prayer before the first drop hit the ground. “You don’t miss the rain you don’t miss the rain.” 

But the second drop was harder to ignore than the first, as water began to shower down upon him and patter against the street and roofs, it sounded just like home. And he was up, his legs shaky as he kept mumbling, “you don’t miss the rain, you don’t.” His eyes still upward, the rain washed down his face, and for a second Jack breathed. He breathed as the rain soaked through to his jacket and through to his bones, and he felt clean. 

He felt clean, and the realization made his lips turn into a smile. Feeling the long absent curl of his lips turning upwards, the determination and mantra he so weakly tried to believe in crumbled and melted away as he ran. His feet kicking through already forming puddles, a laugh bubbling up through his body and stealing its way past his lips as he shouted and smiled. 

It felt so good, so good and so old. And he embraced it like a long lost lover, giggling and splashing, caring about nothing but the feel of the rain kissing his skin and the sound of the water beneath his feet, he didn’t even give a shit that it seeped into his shoes. 

“Whoa!” he screamed, fists pointed upwards to the sky, and smile so wide his cheeks ached and his ribs ached from laughing so hard. He was so happy, the only thing breaking the feeling of childish bliss was the sound of a car engine from across the street, and a dark red car pulling from the lot. 

He stopped his splashing long enough to see a man, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he looked at Jack before pulling quickly down the road, and Jack blinked for a moment at the realization he was being watched. And the thought made him smile again, and he waved.  
\---

The rain didn’t let up for two more days. And each day, he thought of the dark haired man watching him dance through the streets. It was weird, and nice, and weird and weird and Jack’s stomach hurt. 

The day after it started to rain, he felt the dirtiness on his skin again, and no matter how much he sat in the rain, or rubbed at his damp skin it didn’t fade. Anger rose in his stomach, his hands beating against his face as he grit his teeth in frustration. “What the actual fuck!” he screamed out, hands smacking against the brick walls until they grew red and bled. “What the fuck is wrong with me, fucking be fuckin happy!” 

Jack didn’t sleep that night, his face ached and his hands burned and he sat underneath the shelter of a building's balcony. He was busy, busy thinking about the rain, thinking about home, thinking about the mystery man, and thinking about him.

He was always thinking about him.

The way he smiled, the way he had smiled so brightly at him the first time they met, and how soft his voice was, and how fucking perfect he was. So nice, and calm, everything he had wished his father had been instead of the bastard he was. Bile rose to his throat when he thought about his family, his dad, his mom, feeling the burn on his skin where they had touched him, the scars hidden under his jacket and jeans itched. “Fuck,” he whimpered, eyes closing tightly. “Fuck.”

 

But it wasn’t until day three that Jack found himself wandering the street, the rain still kissing his skin but he could barely feel it now. His body was so heavy, he almost was sure the rain was soaking into his body, weighing down his steps which is why each step felt monumental like climbing up a mountain. But he wasn’t climbing a mountain, no, he was teetering down the sidewalk of the intersection, knees shaky and hands trembling and everything so far away. 

He knew he was dissociating, so easy to tell by the feel of nothing, by the way his body seemed to move on his own and his mind processed things at the speed of molasses, he didn’t realize what he was doing. Not until he was staring up to the sky as horns blared around him, the sound so distant and muted he almost wondered if they were blocks away or just the sound of thunder rumbling again. 

He blinked slowly, eyes closing as his lips trembled and he tried so hard to feel the rain against his skin but he couldn’t. He didn’t feel anything, and he wondered briefly if that was a blessing or not, wondered if he stayed just like this forever if he’d melt away. The rain melting his skin and he could sink back into the earth, turning into nothingness. He sighed. 

And he stiffened. He opened his eyes slowly at the feel of a warm hand against his shoulder, his mind slowly grounding itself into the warmth of that palm, body being turned to stare into the face of the man he saw days ago. Brown eyes full of concern, black hair stuck to his forehead from the rain and a worried frown upon his face. “Hey, you can’t stay here man, you’re blocking the way.” his voice smooth and deep, pulling Jack in further. “Buddy, we got to get out of the road, you hear me man? Come on.” 

His hand moved from shoulder to his wrist, and Jack was pulled along behind the man, stumbling awkwardly as if he didn’t know how to place his feet upon solid ground after floating for so long. He let himself get dragged to the same red car, the passenger door being opened for him and Mr. Samaritan going around and getting in the driver door and waiting. He barely even registered what he was doing before getting inside the car and shutting the door. 

And it got awkward, because Jack suddenly crash landed back to earth and he realized he was dripping wet, a disgusting smelly mess sitting in the car with a stranger. Granted a handsome stranger that kept stealing glances at him as he drove, but still a stranger. “I’m Mark.” Okay, noted, not a stranger, Mark. “Listen, I can drop you off at a restaurant if you want, or maybe the hospital or-” 

Jack felt panic rise in his chest, his voice rising faster though than his rationality at the word hospital and memories of early morning pain and crying and he blurted out the only thing he could think of. “Jack.”

“What?” 

“My name,” he mumbled, the sound of his own voice surprising to his ears. His accent sounded thicker, and his voice slurred in just a way that made it seem softer. ““My name is Jack, and no thank you on the hospital or the restaurant it’s alright to drop me off anywhere.” 

He watched the other man process this statement in milliseconds, and it almost surprised him how resolute he sounded. “ I’m not gonna be an asshole and drop you soaking wet off on the road when I just got you out of one, not unless I know you’ll be fine.” 

Touching, he thought to himself. Weirdly so. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, thinking about how he mentioned restaurants yet he had no way to pay and he knew he looked homeless enough but didn’t want this weirdly nice dude with such a warm and soft car seat to just think of him as a poor piece of shit like he was. He just wanted to sit in this soft seat for just a minute longer and maybe close his eyes and maybe just-

“I never said you were, but we can get food anyways cause I am.” He looked back at Mark, and for a second his stomach ached again. “And so is Tim, right Tim?” 

The call of his name brought a feeling of something warm and wet against his hand and he jumped, shoving itself under his arm was the broad head of a golden retriever puppy. He saw the pink tongue lolling from its mouth and bushy tail wagging furiously, his whole body wagging along with it and he almost smiled again. He liked dogs. “Thanks for this, you didn’t have to.” 

Mark chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling and distantly reminding him of thunder. “Don’t worry about it. As long as you don’t try and murder me I think we’ll be okay.” 

Laughing now, he cocked his head. “What if I was? Don’t I just look like a terrifying serial killer? I mean look at these plus one biceps, they could take down anyone.” he joked, and Mark raised a brow smiling. 

“What muscles?” he asked, the brown eyes scanning over his soaked frame and grinned. “You look like a fucking green bean man.” 

Huffing, Jack laughed again, flexing his arm though not like any muscles showed through the confines of his sleeve. He still patted his arm proudly as if something were under it. “I am the manliest green bean then! Green bean getting food from you pretty boy.”

He almost found satisfaction in how his words caused Mark to choke on his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm supposed to be writing Poetry and Paper Files chapters but this has been on my mind for a while. Don't hate me, I'm not good at finishing things haha


End file.
